


My Heart Keeps Open House

by growtilltall (ThereAreFiveLights)



Series: Coffee Shop AU [2]
Category: Daft Punk
Genre: Bakery and Coffee Shop, Depression, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-01-27 03:12:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1712819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereAreFiveLights/pseuds/growtilltall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Continuation of the "You Will Be Mine, By Taking Our Time." Thomas and Guy are working in the café together (with wayward help from Paul) and struggling to continue working on their music at the same time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Lefunkbacktothepunk deserves all the awards for putting up with my whining as I tried to figure out how I was going to write this fic.
> 
> The title is taken from a poem by Theodore Roethke.
> 
> Paul is going to have a considerably bigger role in this fic than in the previous one. I made him flirty and boundary-pushing and a bit past borderline awkward because he's Paul.
> 
> TW: this fic will explore some of the effects of depression and anxiety more profoundly than the last fic did.

Three Weeks Later, Friday Morning

Thomas woke to the sound of his phone alarm ringing, muffled from where it was wedged deep between the mattress and the headboard. He groaned and fished it out, punching in the code to turn it off with one eye half open. At his side, Guy whined something about the ungodly hour into his pillow and burrowed deeper into the blankets.

"You can't stay in bed all day again," Thomas said with a yawn. "Your customers need you." He sat up and began the task of untangling Guy from the bed, worming his hands under the blankets until they made contact with warm skin and then shaking him gently. Guy's back rumbled with a growl and he inched away from the touch. Thomas followed the movement of his body with his mouth, leaning in and pressing a kiss to Guy's shoulder. "Please get out of bed?"

Thomas would go in and open up the café instead, but it was Friday and that meant the machines needed to be thoroughly cleaned _and_ the shelves needed to be restocked. Unfortunately, Guy hadn't quite gotten around to teaching Thomas much more than the most rudimentary managing skills beyond making the most popular drinks. That in itself posed a problem, not to mention the fact that Guy hadn't actually gone in and opened the café in a few days. At first it'd been okay, but now Thomas was beginning to get a little worried.

Guy shied away from the kiss and turned away from Thomas with a non-committal grunt.

Thus the battle was lost and Thomas rolled out of bed, eyeing the sleeping beast as he tugged on the same pair of jeans from yesterday and searched for a clean shirt.

"So what am I supposed to do about cleaning?" he asked. It was difficult to keep the frustration from his voice and Guy must certainly have heard it because he lifted his head just enough for Thomas to make contact with his eyes.

"Call my brother and ask him to help," he mumbled. "Tell him I'm not feeling good."                              

One very awkward phone call later (Paul answered the call from Guy's phone with a sexual innuendo and turned outright obscene once he realized it was actually Thomas speaking), Thomas found himself for the fourth day in a row standing outside _Crydamoure_ at five in the morning fumbling with the half dozen keys on Guy's keychain trying to open the door. His only hope was that Paul would arrive in time to get all the work done they needed to do before customers started filing in. There had been an influx in them once Thomas started working at the café, probably because there was finally someone working behind the counter that didn't assault them with constant sarcasm.

Luckily, Paul wandered in about fifteen minutes, just as Thomas finished putting down all the chairs and refilling the condiment table.

"Is my older brother feeling lazy today?" Paul asked as he sauntered in, " _Woe is me, I'm so tired, make my poor younger brother do all the hard work_ \- that kind of thing? He's always had such a flair for the melodramatic.

Thomas had only seen Paul a handful of times, he was always a little surprised at how similar they looked in opposition to their personalities. Paul wore his quirky sense of humor on his sleeve where Guy hid it behind a concrete wall. He'd wondered why the two were so starkly different, but there never seemed an adequate moment to ask.

"I think he's just tired," Thomas replied, backing into the counter as Paul stalked towards him. "He hasn't been himself recently."

" _Au contraire, mon ami_ ," Paul corrected. "He's usually this lazy and probably only pretended otherwise to impress you. I can't say I blame him."

Thomas felt increasingly as if he was being devoured the longer Paul stared at him. His grey-blue eyes were much darker than Guy's and he looked with an intensity that lent itself to vague insanity. For all his height and gangly limbs Thomas almost felt short in front of Paul, which was ridiculous considering he was probably an inch shorter than Guy.

"I-I-I guess so," Thomas stammered. "Do you k-know how t-t-to stock the-"

"Straight to work then," Paul cut him off. "What a shame."

 

Friday Evening

As it turned out, Paul knew much more about the café than Thomas gave him credit for and they'd made short work of the morning. When it was time to open, Paul had taught him not only how to clean all the equipment and stock, but how to make nearly all the drinks on the menu. He'd even scribbled a little cheat sheet (in handwriting unmistakably similar to Guy's) with recipes for Thomas to reference throughout the day 

Thomas didn't realize that Guy hadn't even made an appearance in the café until the sun was going down and the last of the customers wandered out the door. It was nearly ten o'clock.

The fatigue of working more than twelve hours, with two breaks for lunch and dinner, hit Thomas quite suddenly and he found himself sinking to the floor. No wonder Guy was so tired all the time if every day was like this. The only bright side was that he'd made an outrageous amount of money, much more than when he'd first started helping out in the café.

He cleaned up quickly, made a silent promise to take care of the sweeping tomorrow, and locked up in less than ten minutes with the weight of hard labor heavy on his shoulders. He was filled with a sense of satisfaction though- almost the same feeling he got when he made music. It was akin to being enlightened, feeling both tired and energized all at once.

The feeling lasted only as long as the walk back to his apartment; once he entered and found Guy in the exact same place and position as when he left, the satisfaction turned to twisted agitation in his gut.

"Guy?" he said softly. "Guillaume?" He laid a hand on Guy's shoulder and shook him. "Are you sick? Do you need me to call a doctor?"

Guy opened his eyes sluggishly and caught Thomas's hand in his own, tugging it under the blankets to cradle against his chest.

"I got up and showered," he said slowly, "And came back to bed. Don't call the doctor."

"Are you-"

" _Don't_ ," Guy snapped, fingers digging into Thomas's wrist. "I just need a little more sleep is all."

 

Saturday

By sheer willpower, Guy forced himself to wake up before Thomas. He clumsily punched the code into Thomas's phone and shut off the alarm, leaving the device at his bedside table with a short note telling him to take the day off. Thomas certainly deserved it and Guy had taken more days off than he really had the privilege to do, since it was in fact _his_ café.

And, of course, there had been Paul's phone call in the middle of the day that had woken him up, asking him why he wasn't working and berating him for making Thomas go in and do everything himself. Guy had hung up on him three minutes into the rant, but Paul's meddling had struck a sore spot. What exactly _were_ they doing trying to run a coffee shop together like an old couple?

More importantly, did Thomas believe that this band thing was actually going to take off? They were, Guy decided, taking far too many chances. He felt too exposed.

His frustration reached a head when he arrived at _Crydamoure_ and discovered that Thomas made in a single day what Guy usually managed in three. Obviously Thomas was just the type to make anything work, regardless of how hopeless a situation was. So where was Guy going to end up once Thomas decided to ditch him for someone who knew how to use all his stupid recording equipment?

Guy spend the first few hours of his shift scowling at the counter, growing more and more agitated with each customer that walked in and asked about 'that tall guy from the other day.' When it was time for lunch break and Thomas peeked his head in, it was all he could do not to lunge over the counter and strangle him.

Instead, he kept his mouth shut and his eyes trained on the tip of Thomas's nose as he leaned over the counter and spoke.

"I was thinking we could close the café one day a week so we can rest and work on music," he was saying, "Or hire a third person to help out because you've been so tired and all, if your p-parents are all right with it I mean, or maybe we can recruit your brother since he already knows how to do so much..."

"Or maybe you could let me run the café the way I'm used to while you sit around at home playing with your records," Guy suggested without thinking, the words cutting into his own conscience as he heard them spilling from his mouth. "Look, Thomas, this isn't a game or a joke or a vacation. I was getting along fine before you came along. If I wanted to be pressured into working harder, maybe I'd go visit my parents once in a while."

Thomas visibly blanched and he pushed away from the counter, suddenly standing very straight.

"If you don't want to work together," he started-

" _Merde_ , that isn't-" Guy's gaze flickered up to Thomas's eyes for a moment and he watched as Thomas clenched his jaw. "Will you please just come over here? I don't like talking to you over the counter."

Thomas's expression softened and he slid around the back of the counter, pulling Guy into a tight hug as soon as he was within reaching distance.

"I know I'm difficult," Guy mumbled into Thomas's chest, his arms wrapped low around the small of Thomas's back, "I just don't understand how you can be so fucking... positive. All I want to do is sleep and eat and let the world spin around until it topples over."

Thomas pressed his mouth to the top of Guy's head, then to his forehead, his cheek, and finally his lips.

"Sorry for pressuring you," Thomas said apologetically. "Let's just take it one day at a time, like before."

Guy nodded and sank back into Thomas's chest, silently wishing he were back at home in a nest of blankets with a carton of cigarettes again, not a worry in the world. He was tired of the apologies, especially since he meant them so much when he said them and it hurt them both when he forgot to continue  _trying_ , like feeling hazy and grey was something he could just  _try_ away.

For Thomas, he supposed, pressing a kiss to his collarbone, he could continue trying. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Although it starts on a somewhat dark note, this fic will NOT be all depressing/angst. I promise.  
> 2) Rating subject to change because sex.  
> 3) Once this fic is finished, I'm tackling Label AU because it's been floating around in my head for months.  
> 4) All of you who read this fic are lovely and Thank You because you guys are the reason I continue writing :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Err.... more Paul, record-shop going, Romanthony, and bad sex. I don't even know how the bad sex happened.

Monday

"Guillaume. Guy. Guy-Man. Guy-Manuel. Guy. Hey."

Guy slid another record into the player and turned up the volume just loud enough to remain tasteful. Chic.

"Guy. _Mon frere._ I'm not leaving until you talk to me. _Guillaume, putain._ "

He ignored Paul, taking his spot behind the counter and reaching behind his back to tighten his apron before looking up at his next customer. His mouth turned upwards in what he hoped was a smile.

"Welcome to _Crydamoure_ ," he said pleasantly, "What can I get you today?"

"I think that guy is trying to get your attention," the customer replied slowly. "Maybe you should talk to him first?"

Guy's smile faltered and he leaned over the counter until his face was inches away from the customer's.

"Maybe you should tell me what you'd like to drink and we won't have a problem."

After one awkward _High Voltage_ and a tip that Guy figured was probably mostly fear rather than legitimate enjoyment, Guy sat up on the counter and began flipping through the most recent issue of _Café et Thé_. It was almost enjoyable until Paul snatched the magazine from his hands and tossed it on a nearby table.

" _Connard_ , what?" Guy shouted, "What is so important that you felt compelled to breathe over my shoulder all morning? What?"

Paul rolled his eyes and ran a hand through Guy's hair, pulling playfully at the longer strands. Guy accepted the treatment with a huff, crossing his arms over his chest and leering.

"Thomas told me he was trying to convince you to hire on extra help," Paul said. "I think it's a good idea. You need to focus more on things that make you happy."

Guy slid off the counter and pushed past Paul with a snarl. "You sound like our parents. They seemed so interested in my happiness when they forced this place on me-"

"You didn't leave them any other option," Paul interrupted. "They were just trying to give you a push in the right direction."

"Because they're trying so hard to push _you_ in the right direction," Guy said, voice slowly gaining caliber as he continued. "I remember a couple years ago when someone else dropped out of school and decided to spend all his savings traveling before crawling back to mom and dad in worse shape than I ever was. And they rewarded you much differently than me."

At that moment, an unsuspecting group of high schoolers came through the door. Guy and Paul both stared them down and shouted, "We're closed!" at the same time, forcing the group to pause in shock and scatter back out the door. It would have been humorous, had the brothers not been on the verge of a meltdown.

"Guillaume," Paul started, his steam lost from the interruption. "We're just worried about you. I know you act lazy, but you're working too hard at something you don't really care about."

Guy pressed his palms into his eyes, willing the growing headache pounding in his temples to go away.

"I have this conversation with Thomas almost every day, Paul," Guy moaned sadly, "I don't need it from you too. It isn't fair for all of you to know what I want or need more than I do."

Once again, Paul carded his fingers through Guy's hair, this time scratching gently at the back of his head. The touch was kryptonite, the type of touch that reduced even the prickliest of cats into a ball of purring fur.

"Take the day off tomorrow," Paul told him. "Go out and do something with Thomas, or visit mom and dad, or go spend the day alone if you must. Just stay out of bed and stay _away_ from _Crydamoure_."

Something about the way Paul spoke made it impossible for Guy to argue. He simply nodded his head slowly and sighed as his headache faded away to nothing.

 

Tuesday Morning

For the first time in over a week, no alarm broke the silence of dawn. The sun drifted lazily through the windows, its beams illuminating specks of dust in the air. Guy's arm tightened around Thomas's chest and he subconsciously hid his face from the coming light by burrowing his face into the back of Thomas's neck. And then his eyes opened. His stomach twisted with the sudden thought that he was late for work and he nearly forced Thomas out of bed and onto the floor in a struggle to kick off the tangled sheets when he remembered-

"Paul took the shop today," he said under his breath in relief. And he turned to his bed partner, "Thomas?"

"Don't mind me," Thomas rumbled, voice muffled where it hung off the bed at a strange angle. "Just enjoying the morning."

They both gave into laughter as Guy helped hoist Thomas back onto the bed properly. He was surprised to find how much he missed laughter- it felt like ages since the last time he did anything more than scowl at people. And there was also _that_...

"Since we're already awake," Guy said, his voice a thrum, "Might as well take advantage of it."

He slid onto Thomas's lap, pinning the taller man's shoulders down to the mattress with a coy smile. Thomas only had one eye open and he shook softly as he tried to fight back a yawn.

"You wanna," another yawn, "Sleep a little longer first?" Thomas's hands slid under Guy's sleeping shirt even as he spoke, long fingers coming to rest on his hips. "I didn't get the week off like a certain someone."

Guy deflated a bit, then leaned in to press nipping kisses at Thomas's jaw. "Sex first and then sleep," he insisted. More kisses. "We haven't had sex since-"

"Five days," Thomas cut him off, hands wandering back to squeeze tenderly at Guy's firm bottom. "And you fell asleep in the middle."

" _Connard_ , you won't let me forget that, will you?" Guy cursed against Thomas's neck. He pressed a final kiss to his nape and pulled away, still seated around Thomas's middle. "What do you want to do today?"

That made Thomas smile, his hands gripping tighter around Guy's hips for a moment before rolling them both over so he was on top, their chests and noses bumping together.

"I was thinking we could go to the record store after breakfast," he started, trailing his fingers along Guy's shoulder as he spoke, "Then out to lunch, somewhere greasy and delicious..." his fingers found the bottom of Guy's shirt and he tugged it up as far as it would go, "And then we can come back here and listen to some cheesy disco music while I seduce you. Or you seduce me. Or both, one after the other." He leaned in and licked into Guy's mouth, drawing a low moan from them both as the space between them became hot and muggy. It was perfect, the build-up exquisite, until Thomas pulled back and kissed the tip of Guy's nose with a pop.

"But first, sleep."

 

Ten Minutes Later

Guy seated himself on the backs of Thomas's thighs, long hair falling past his face touching feathers on Thomas's back as he placed kisses down his spine. Thomas shivered beneath him, hips canting up to meet the weight of Guy's body against him.

And then he woke up, all pointy elbows and befuddled mumbles until he realized what was going on.

"Sleep!" he shouted, still squirming under Guy's weight, long hair tickling at his spine. Naturally, he flailed even harder.

Guy rolled over to his back, nursing a sore spot where Thomas's elbow made particularly hard contact, and stared at the ceiling with an impressive pout until his eyes began to burn and he slipped back into unconsciousness.

 

Tuesday Afternoon

They got lucky with the weather, Thomas thought as they wandered down a Parisian Avenue, not humid or chill, just pleasant. Guy scuttled along at his side with a pout, sucking on an unlit cigarette and obviously still miffed from the morning's events.

"You know I swing when you tickle me," Thomas said apologetically.

Guy's frown deepened and he fished a lighter out of his pocket.

"I wasn't trying to tickle you, _crétin_ ," Guy spat. "Where are we going again?"

Thomas held out an arm to stop Guy and pointed at a store across the street; it looked cozy from afar, with large windows featuring a colorful display of records and CDs. It was small enough that it didn't have the appearance of one of the more mainstream record stores without actually looking run down. Guy perked up visibly beside Thomas, taking a long drag from his cigarette and dropping it on the asphalt half smoked.

"I've never been to this one before," he said. He squinted at the somewhat chipped paint and tried to make out the name of the store. "Ron... Rout..."

" _Roulé,_ " Thomas explained as they crossed the street. "I found this place when I was fourteen. The owner is pretty selective about what he buys and sells... it's almost all used records."

They went through the pale red door and Thomas held the door open for Guy, whose giddy excitement was intoxicating. Thomas usually came in with a more relaxed attitude, like a connoisseur of fine records sifting patiently for the perfect sound; Guy's presence made him feel more like a child in a pet store, hoping that each and every animal would be more spectacular than the last, and that he'd be able to take them all home.

"Thomas!" The voice, thick with an American accent, came from the back of the shop near the cash registers. "I haven't seen you here for ages!"

Thomas slipped past Guy, already nose deep in a rack of records, and greeted the shop owner with an enthusiastic hug.

"I've been busy with a new project," Thomas told him, then he gestured at Guy, "This is- Guy! Come here a second- This is m-my-"

"Paramour," Guy finished the sentence for him with a wink. Thomas flushed. "You've got some really old records."

The store owner laughed heartily and clapped Thomas on the shoulder. "No need to be embarrassed." He turned to Guy, "You can call me Romanthony, any friend of Thomas's is a friend of mine. Browse to your heart's content."

Romanthony retreated to the back of the store and Guy elbowed Thomas in the side.

"Feeling shy all the sudden? You can leave if you want, go make sure Paul doesn't burn down the café," he teased, flitting away when Thomas prepared to launch a retort.

Thomas lingered mostly in the oldies section, where most of the records were on sale. He may have a source of income now from working part-time in _Crydamoure_ , but it was a far cry from being enough money to blow on expensive records. There was little in the rack he didn't already own, but every record was interesting in its own way and he didn't move on to the next row until he'd examined every single one. He made a mental list of the ones he found most interesting, filing them away to compare notes with Guy.

Minutes meandered forward, turning into an hour and then an hour and a half. The two men met in the middle of the store, Guy with a stack of four records he insisted he _could not_ be without and Thomas with a significantly larger stack he still needed to sort through.

"Let's just buy them all," Guy griped. Thomas shook his head.

"I don't have the cash-"

"Then I'll pay for it," Guy insisted. "I've got the money, you can make it up to me later."

Thomas furrowed his brow and gripped the records tighter with reluctance. "I can't ask you-"

"You're not asking, just- give them to me- pass them here. Come on, Thomas, it isn't a big deal." 

Like in most situations, Thomas caved, but only with the understanding that he would hand over his next _Crydamoure_ paycheck in return. It didn't matter that it was Guy's parent's signing off on their checks, Thomas didn't like getting something for nothing. The dependency of it made him feel inadequate.

"Hope you'll start coming in regularly again," Romanthony said to Thomas as he bagged their purchase. " _Roulé_ 's as good as dead without my best customer."

"You mean your only customer."

"Custom _ers_ ," Guy corrected, pushing the records over to Thomas with a smirk. "Freeloader carries the bag."

Romanthony mirrored Guy's wink from earlier as Thomas took the bag and Thomas couldn't help but wink back.

 

Tuesday, Midnight

"We didn't get a single damned thing done," Guy said with a yawn, taking a long drag from his cigarette and blowing it up towards the slowly spinning ceiling fan. He tapped the ashes into an empty glass on the bedside table (Thomas put up with it only as long as Guy washed it out to keep the ash smell from taking over his room) and offered the cigarette to Thomas.

Records were strewn out all over the bed and floor and the both of them were leaned back against the headboard, listening to the slow click of the record having run its course. They'd spent hours and hours listening to the records. All of it was good music, some of it was even excellent, and not a single track could be used as a sample. Thomas took the cigarette and held it pensively for a moment before taking a considerably smaller drag.

"Those first songs came so easily," he said, letting his head drop back so it banged softly against the headboard. "Maybe it isn't meant to be."

"Shut the fuck up, Thomas Bangalter," Guy snapped, snatching back the cigarette. "You're not supposed to give up so easily, that's my job. Between the two of us, we own hundreds of records, and we haven't even started looking on the internet yet, so don't you dare give up."

He felt shifting beside him and quite suddenly Thomas's lips were pressed to the corner of his mouth.

"Thank you," Thomas said, his smoke-laced breath warm against Guy's cheek. Heat rose up in Guy's chest and he knew he was starting to flush, so he turned away, ashing the cigarette as a pretense to do so.

"Don't thank me," Guy mumbled, taking one last drag before putting it out. "Just.. start.. doing stuff again so I don't have to listen to you complaining anymore."

He didn't notice Thomas's movement until it was too late- one moment he was sitting in bed staring absently at the cup full of ashes and then Thomas was pulling him into a tight hug and rolling them over so he was snug between Guy's legs.

"Thank you," he repeated, dragging his lips along Guy's jaw, "for putting up with my complaining and giving me an opportunity to do what I love."

Hearing the word _love_ made Guy freeze for a moment, his mind suddenly reeling. It wasn't as if Thomas had said he loved _him_ , but the very appearance of the word suddenly rearing its head like an elephant in the room- what was love, were they moving towards love, was he already in love? what if he never fell in love?- was wildfire in Guy's thoughts.

He silenced himself, thoughts loud as screams and frustratingly inaudible, by twisting his fingers into the curls of Thomas's hair and bumping their mouths together- not caring when Thomas's teeth knocked into his lip. He wanted the distraction of doing something, of feeling Thomas against him and Thomas responded eagerly, all grinding and tongue and heavy moans like a pair of teenagers in the back of a loaned car. Guy reveled in it, ignored the chafe of his jeans and hitched his thigh up on Thomas's hip, nipped at his lip and jaw and scrapped blunt nails into the small of Thomas's back to pull him closer.

"Do you w-want to...?" Thomas pulled back just far enough to ask.

"Fuck," Guy cursed, reaching between them to pry at Thomas's jeans. "Obviously I want to, otherwise I wouldn't be- _Christ_ , you're so hard- trying to get you naked."

Thomas insisted, much to Guy's chagrin, that they clear all the records off the bed before continuing; which lead to stacking them neatly by the player, and cleaning the scattered records from the floor and by the time they were done, Guy wanted to scream. He settled for throwing himself back on Thomas's bed and touching himself, fingering at the head of his dick and watching Thomas move about the room with his ridiculous amble as he dug blindly through the side table for condoms and lube.

They didn't go the normal way with that regular sex that everyone seemed to have in daytime TV, it was a return to the clumsy sex of virgins and awkward angles. Guy whined and tightened his thighs around Thomas's hips, rocking into him as they both tried to find the right rhythm, like trying to find a word on the tip of your tongue. He felt his arousal flagging between them, the slow grind of Thomas's hips starting to make his backside sore as their ragged moans turned to desperate panting and finally a heavy silence.

Thomas stilled against him, forehead pressed to Guy's shoulder.

"I think we might be broken," he said sadly.

Guy remained silent, simply enjoying the weight of Thomas's body- his heat. He found Thomas's neck and shoulder with his mouth, pressing open mouthed kisses to the sweaty skin for a few moments before tipping his head back and sighing.

The sex... it was disappointing, not like they were used to. He'd _wanted_ it, for hours, days, a week- but the longer he let his hands run over Thomas's body, concentrated on the rise and fall of his back as he breathed, he realized it wasn't important, not really.

"We're both tired," Guy said, voice smoke-worn. Thomas face hovered over his own, expression somewhere between embarrassed and relieved. "You're still my sexy  _girafe._ " 

Thomas fell asleep faster than Guy expected, rolling over and tossing the empty condom into the bin before dozing straight off to sleep. Guy chalked it up to stress and sleep deprivation without questioning why he, under the same circumstances, couldn't sleep. He puffed away at another cigarette and watched the smoke drift about in the dim light- some of it tangling up in the air of the fan and some billowing out the window into the freedom of the night air.

He reached over and combed his fingers through Thomas's hair for a moment, then reached over the edge of the bed to fish his phone out of his pants.

_Are mom and dad working tomorrow? I'm stopping by the house for a bit_.

With some hesitation, he sent off the text to Paul and then curled up behind Thomas, pleased when Thomas caught his hand and threaded their fingers together in his sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you're all darlings and hopefully the next chapter won't take so long to write.


End file.
